Thursday, January 28, 2010

The Many Ways In Which Jay Leno Is A Hypocrite

Sigh. Either this story won't die, or I won't let it. Take your pick. Anyway, Jay Leno went onto Oprah Winfrey's show today (in a taped interview in his studio in Burbank, California--way to seem personable, Jay!) to tell his side of the story in the most recent late-night wars. Granted, Jay did have the platform that Oprah has: a five-day-a-week, hourlong program in which he could dictate a nice chunk of the content. Did he not get a chance to tell his story then? Well, of course he did. He portrayed himself as not just a victim, but the victim. Feel bad for Conan O'Brien, sure, but make sure you feel real bad for Jay Leno. Don't forget, he got fired. Don't forget, the ratings that Conan had were what kicked him out. Don't forget, he took the 11:35 timeslot to save the jobs of the people working for his show.

Don't forget, because as long as he keeps reminding you not to forget all of those things, you might be able to poke holes all over his argument. I could tell you about the many ways in which Jay Leno is an idiot, a douchebag, an asshole, or a selfish whiner, but all you need to do is read the transcript or watch the interview, and you need no further proof. But I can't let it go, because even the television writers I respect and read seem to....well, let's be honest, there are other stories going on now, and I can't blame them for wanting to get rid of the nasty aftertaste the ordeal left. But Jay Leno, big shock, is being a huge fucking hypocrite.

First, the idea that Jay got fired. Jay didn't just get fired, he got fired twice. See, when you get fired, your hourlong comedy show gets moved from one timeslot to another. Sorry, let me try again. When you get fired, your hourlong comedy show not only gets moved from one timeslot to another, but it gets moved to a timeslot that is far better, because more people are going to be awake. Wait, one more time. When you get fired, your hourlong comedy gets moved to a better timeslot, and does so at the expense of hundreds of other people whose dramas aren't going to get picked up by the network you work for. See, Jay's a people person. He cares about the people who work for his show. He doesn't, however, care about the people who work for Conan O'Brien. He also doesn't care (or, according to the interview, he is unaware of their existence) about the people whose shows weren't renewed or picked up, because the 10 p.m. timeslot was closed to them.

Jay Leno did not get fired. If I get fired, I am not placed in a better job. I am promoted. If I get fired, I do not come back to work. If you want to argue that, in 2004, Jay Leno was fired, you may. And as soon as Jay Leno publicly said he would retire, your argument fell apart. Moreover, it's hard to call that getting fired when, by the time Leno's last 11:35 show aired, he had a better job with more money. Jay Leno did not get fired. He got promoted for, as Jeff Zucker does, failing upwards.

Second, the ratings. I am tired to death about the ratings. The ratings were destroying the 11:35 franchise, says Leno. Jay Leno is an interesting person to make such an accusation, especially when you consider a few things. First of all, Jay Leno did a terrible job with the ratings in the 3 years in between him taking over for Johnny Carson and when Hugh Grant came on his show in August 1995. After that, Leno had all the ratings in the world. But how great were Leno's ratings? Not that great, unless you consider 5 million overall viewers and a 1.4 18-49 rating great. And guess what? If you work for a broadcast network, and a primetime show does that rating, that rating sucks. That's why Jay Leno's 10:00 show failed. Because he got those ratings, and he got them against CBS dramas.

So, how well did Conan O'Brien do in those ratings? Well, in overall viewership, yes, he was not doing so hot. People had left him for David Letterman, by a margin of over one million viewers by the time December came around. But advertisers don't care. And advertisers set the rates, which is what makes networks money. So all the networks should care about is the 18-49 rating, because that's all advertisers care about. The best ratings equal the most money. Conan did have a decreased 18-49 rating, 1.1. So, who was the number-one host at 11:35 while Conan was on? Why, Conan O'Brien, of course. Yeah, see, NBC wanted Conan O'Brien to leave because he wasn't the best number-one host compared with Jay Leno a year ago.

What's most frustrating about the interview is that Oprah Winfrey is very obviously in the tank for Jay Leno. Now, that's fine; she's entitled to her opinion and her interview was not heavily biased. Her after-show online video was, and she very clear condescended to the viewers, even though she was shocked, SHOCKED, that people may not see Leno favorably. See, Oprah said, it's all about business. And if it IS all about business, someone can explain to me how, if you fail in primetime, you are given another slot. That's what's frustrating now; Oprah and the few other folks in favor of Leno are trying to act like the whole Jay Leno at 10:00 thing didn't happen. Not just didn't work, didn't happen. Oprah had an analogy in her post-show, comparing Jay to someone who gets fired. Because, again, if you get fired, you move to a better position in the same company. That's how getting fired works. For people like Oprah and Jay Leno, people who make more money in a year than I will ever make.

But the ratings are what they are. Conan's ratings were lower, but not low. They were not disastrous. They were not, as Jay said falsely, what the affiliates were mad about. The affiliates could not give a fuck if Conan doesn't do great. They care about their local news, which comes before Conan, but after, for four months, Jay. That's the funny thing about lead-ins. Conan had bad ratings in the fall, thanks to Jay Leno's poor lead-in. Jay Leno does badly, so the local news does badly. The local news does badly, so Conan O'Brien does badly. But what about the summer? What's Conan's excuse, you ask? Well, kids, it's the SUMMER. Summer television not only sucks, but gets bad ratings. Summer television never gets good ratings. So Conan's ratings suffered from the get-go. But the affiliates were only ever mad about Leno at 10:00. They may be happy that he's back at 11:35, but that doesn't matter to NBC. If one affiliate tells them they're not showing Jay Leno, NBC can push back. If they all say it, it's harder to avoid. The facts are that Jay Leno's ratings are what did him in. Not Conan O'Brien's.

The jobs. Jay took the old timeslot because otherwise, his employees would be out of work. But Conan O'Brien's people? Oh, does he have people? Jay probably doesn't know. Oprah (full credit due here, too) asked Jay about the countless people who would have lost their jobs by not having hourlong dramas airing at 10:00. And Jay just kind of shrugged it off, not having been aware at the time of those people being put out of work. Just as he shrugged off the people he was putting out of work by going back to late-night television in early 2008, crossing the picket lines. Did it matter then? No, because Jay's a workaholic, according to Oprah. He likes telling jokes, even if they're not funny. So it's OK if he wants to work, because it's what he wants. See, he is just looking out for his people. His people are more important than Conan's people. They're more important because...well, they work with Jay, right? That must be it. That is the only reason I can think of, and even that reason is fucking insane.

Jay Leno is a hypocrite and a liar. Oh, and by the way, Jay, telling people on national television that you will retire when you'd rather not is not a little white lie. It's a big fucking lie. So, Jay's a hypocrite. He's a liar. He's a scumbag. And the fact that he can go ragging on Conan O'Brien while Conan has to keep shtum until three months from now is unfair, but it is what it is. But if he keeps talking out of his ass, I'm going to keep ranting. Just like the average guy that I am.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Why I'm With Conan

Well, the late-night wars of 2010 seem to be closing down for the time being; what better time, then, for me to tell you why I'm on the side I'm on? Yes, I'm the king of bad timing, but so it goes. I say the wars are closing down for now, but I think it's pretty clear that, should Conan O'Brien do what is expected and be on the airwaves again in September, they'll pick up heat by the fall. For now, though, things have cooled off considerably. So much so that so few people realized today that The Tonight Show With Jay Leno at 10 p.m. (also known as The Jay Leno Show) is leaving television a little earlier than expected. NBC had originally said that Jay would be on primetime until the Winter Olympics began on February 12. Now, they've quietly announced that he'll be leaving, somewhat inexplicably, on February 9.

What huge, blowout-style guests will Jay have? Will he play guitar on his last night? How much money will he spend on comedy bits; rather, how much money will he claim to spend? Right, I know Jay's thought of as not being terribly creative, but if he steals jokes from other talk-show hosts who are still on the air, why not those who've been fired?

And let's be clear: Conan O'Brien was fired. He may have gone as willingly as a person can in his unusual situation, but he was fired. The question that NBC asked itself and answered almost immediately was this: who is important to us? Is Jay Leno more important than Conan O'Brien? Are they of equal importance? Of course not. See, Jay gets a 1.4 rating at 11:35 and Conan gets a 1.1 rating in the same demographic, that old 18-49 demographic. Does it matter that both men topped David Letterman in the demo? No. Does it matter that Jay's audience is getting older and Conan's is getting...slightly less old?

As fascinating as the numbers game is (even if no one has yet given a solid and sane explanation of why a cheap, five-night-a-week hourlong talk show that gets ratings that would be modest on the CW is considered a huge success), what the last couple of weeks has reminded me is this: when it comes to late-night television, there are only a few people whose shows I want to give my time to. There's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, the two Comedy Central hosts that I've been watching for years. There's--granted, I'm just beginning to check him out, but I'm liking what I see--Craig Ferguson, whose cranky yet weird persona reminds me of upcoming guest Eddie Izzard. And there's Conan O'Brien. In watching some clips from his 12:35 show, I'm reminded that he's certainly evolved as a late-night host and comedian. Would the Conan O'Brien of 1994 have thought the Conan O'Brien of 2009 was as funny? Are they equally funny? Well, no. But is that a bad thing?

Some people have said that it was only the final two weeks of his 11:35 show when his true persona came out to shine; certainly, there was a solid awareness that Conan had nothing to lose, so why not try anything? But then they showed the montage of what Conan had done for the past seven months at the beginning of the last show, and I realized that...yeah, Conan's been doing pretty crazy shit at 11:35. If the Masturbating Bear doesn't show up, that doesn't mean he's not funny anymore. It means he's trying new things. (Quick question: why is it that something like the Masturbating Bear is inappropriate at 11:35 at night, but it's cool at 12:35? Do people wake their kids up for the monologue or something?). I liked Twitter Tracker. I liked the wax figure of Tom Cruise. I liked all of it.

But I was guilty of something many fans were: I didn't watch Conan's show all the time. I watched it for the first three months, and then I just stopped. Why? It wasn't any less funny. I wondered why I needed to. There were no stakes, if that makes any sense. It was taking up too much space on the TiVo. But in watching the last two weeks, I became determined in the most important way: I will watch Conan's new show. Doesn't matter what time it's on; doesn't matter who the guests are. I will watch. Every night. In that way, I am on Team Coco. He's the funniest man on network television, and NBC is going to realize they made a big mistake.

Where should Conan go? Should: Comedy Central. Will: Fox. Why will he go to Fox? They'll want him, and they'll do whatever they can. Why should he go to Comedy Central? Can you imagine a block of Stewart, Colbert, O'Brien? It's manna from heaven. He'll want to go elsewhere, so he can be the dominant force, not following someone else. I don't blame him; frankly, I know why he'd want that control. But what about freedom? Fox will have affiliates; affiliates may not like what they see. They will want a certain level of ratings. Comedy Central will have none of those problems. Jon Stewart, on a good night, gets 1.5 million total viewers. Conan will not have a problem maintaining such a threshold. He should go to Comedy Central, because he can go crazy with whatever he wants to do. He should go to cable, period. And I'll watch him till the day he retires, for real.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

The Lovely Bones

Oh, Peter Jackson. Sigh. As a defender of his 2005 version of King Kong, I would love to champion his latest effort, a big-screen adaptation of Alice Sebold's popular novel, The Lovely Bones. I cannot lie, though, and it hurts to do so. Jackson is a visionary talent, and he's got his meal ticket paid for eternity, if only because of his Lord of the Rings trilogy. But he's got some serious work to do if this is the best he can do in terms of cinematic growth. The Lovely Bones is more cinematic devolution, not evolution.

The Lovely Bones is narrated by Susie Salmon, a 14-year-old girl who dies in 1973 at the hands of a creepy neighbor named George Harvey. Salmon narrates the film from beyond the grave, as she hangs out in what amounts to a very pretty version of Purgatory. She narrates as she watches her family deal with her death, try to figure out who did it, and how to move on with their lives. The unique part of the movie is the former, as we envision what Susie sees past the grave, a colorful and odd vision of a near-Heaven. As impressive as parts of the movie are, though, here is a movie that makes mistake after mistake after mistake.

Before we wade into my criticism, let's get this much out of the way: Peter Jackson has an eye for visuals. The Lovely Bones has many flaws, but one of them is not the look. Both in the real-world version of the 1970s and in the vision of Heaven, Jackson succeeds. The cinematography, by Jackson collaborator Andrew Lesnie, is pitch-perfect, and I sincerely hope it gets an Oscar nod. Though the special effects sometimes seem a bit too special, and not blended enough, it's a rare distraction. Whatever positive comments I've got, they're almost all about the visuals.

The other noteworthy performer is Stanley Tucci, as the murderous George Harvey. Tucci, sporting a sleazy combover and making his voice sound a bit more chalky, is as creepy as possible as someone who really should've been found earlier. If Harvey was always this icky, how did no one else figure him out? Whatever the case is, Tucci's performance is arguably the most notable element of the movie, as Tucci dominates every scene he's in. But here's the thing: where I would normally tell you that Tucci steals the movie from everyone else, I won't. Why? How can the lead performer steal the movie?

That's the first big problem of The Lovely Bones. Harvey is not the main character of the book. Susie Salmon, as portrayed by Saoirse Ronan, is. If not her, let's focus on her dad, played by Mark Wahlberg. But, no. Tucci not only dominates his scenes, but he's got a lot of them. A lot. Way too many. I'd love to know a breakdown of how long he's onscreen, because it feels like he's got more screen time than anyone except Ronan, who's fine here, but not amazing. Why does Jackson, and his co-writers Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, focus so much on Harvey? I can't say, but I know that focus makes a lot of the scenes featuring Susie's family, especially the fractured relationship between Wahlberg and wife Rachel Weisz, feel underdeveloped and pointless. One transition, as Wahlberg takes the advice of local detective Michael Imperioli (very good in a thankless part) and gets his drunk mother-in-law to help his wife cope with Susie's death, is inappropriately funny.

I wish I could tell you that it's not Wahlberg to blame, but...yeah, I understand that Wahlberg is the right age for the character, and I know he can play more than a blank slate (see The Departed), but this is not a great role for him. Why not cast Sam Rockwell or Peter Sarsgaard? Why not expand the character in the script? Why have Weisz leave her entire family to work in an orange grove? Why have her come back at the weirdest and worst possible moment? Why? Yeah, there's just too many questions that don't get answered in the real-life portion of the movie. What of the supernatural portion? Though the visuals are impressive, I found them unnecessary. Can someone explain to me the scene where Susie and her fellow dead-girl friend parade around their imaginary world and get plastered on the covers of teen magazines? What the hell was that?

In the end, my problem with The Lovely Bones is a lot of little questions. Susan Sarandon, as the Salmon grandmother, is meant to be comic relief, and does fine in her time on screen. But why is she on screen? Why am I watching a montage of her being a bad would-be parent? Why? Why? Peter Jackson, why? I know many people have been lambasting The Lovely Bones, and I wish I could stem the tide. But, in the end, I can only ask why it happened at all.

The Hurt Locker

How do you solve a problem like war? How do you solve a problem like making a movie about war? Somehow, Hollywood has not been able to crack that nut, especially in terms of financial success. Granted, a majority of the recent Iraq War movies, such as Rendition or In The Valley of Elah, aren't great (the latter features a great performance from Tommy Lee Jones, and nothing else). Still, none of these movies make money, which has not a thing to do with a movie's quality. If the world was just, Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen wouldn't have made over 400 million dollars, and The Hurt Locker wouldn't have made only 15 million.

Ah, but, such is life. Despite its incredibly low box-office take, The Hurt Locker, which is not only one of the very best films of 2009, but is also a brilliant wartime film and an uncommonly tense character study, is getting a lot of awards buzz. The film is up for a few Golden Globes (and, as of the time I write this, it hasn't won anything yet, but who knows?), it's won countless critics' awards, and remains one of the highest-rated films of the year. With any luck, and a lot of forcing, regular people will watch The Hurt Locker and accept it for what it is: a positionless war movie.

Yes, it could be argued that the movie is against war, but not specifically the Iraq War. There is no mention of the political state of things in 2004 (the year in which the movie is set), there is no mention of President George W. Bush, there is no mention of anything remotely left- or right-wing. Arguably, the movie is against war, but not this war. The plot, such as it is, goes like this: a trio of soldiers work as a bomb-defusing unit in Baghdad. The leader of the group, Staff Sergeant James (Jeremy Renner) is new to the company of men, thanks to the death of the previous Staff Sergeant (Guy Pearce, one of a few well-known actors who shows up for a handful of minutes) during a not-so-routine bomb defusing. James is extremely skilled and experienced (he humbly tells a superior officer that he has defused nearly 900 bombs), but he is also dangerous. As is hinted in the opening epigram, James is addicted to the tension of war. At the very least, he is an adrenaline junkie. Unfortunately for the two Specialists who flank him (Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty), it means they're always in the line of fire.

The story is simple, as screenwriter Mark Boal and director Kathryn Bigelow use it as a place on which to hang seven bravura action sequences of varying length and breadth. Not all of the setpieces involve defusing bombs (the shootout that occurs midway through has no bombs at all), but those that do are unrelentingly and unremittingly intense. Alongside Inglourious Basterds, The Hurt Locker is not only one of the tensest movies of this year, but of the last four or five. Though this movie is easily and appropriately classified as action, it's worth noting the irony here as opposed to something like the second Transformers movie: here's a film where the characters want NOTHING to explode.

Even on repeat viewings, The Hurt Locker is a strong and breathless experience. What works here is that the opening sequence establishes how dangerous the world of a bomb-defusing unit is: we open on Guy Pearce, a relatively familiar face. 10 minutes later, he's gone and replaced with Jeremy Renner, a not-so-familiar face. Who's to say that he doesn't die 10 minutes after being introduced? Thankfully, Renner stays with us, as the gung-ho, man's man lead. Renner has appeared in other films and TV shows, but here is his best and most understated performance. Even when he lets out a bit of emotion, it's appropriately annoyed; he rarely raises his voice or his temper, but when someone chooses to interrupt him while he works on a bomb, he's likely to lash out.

Though much deserved praise has been heaped upon Renner's performance (which missed out on a Globes nod, a befuddling error), don't forget Mackie and Geraghty, the two supporting players. Mackie is the straight man here, trying to rein in Renner's wild man James, but does so with ease and maturity. Geraghty has more to play with here, as his character arc is established from the opening sequence, when he flinches at the worst possible moment. His scenes with a military shrink who doesn't know from a battlefield (Christian Camargo) are short but subtly moving to watch.

It's rare that a movie that only has about 20 minutes that doesn't feature tense action is so well-structured, so deeply alive. And yet, here is The Hurt Locker, a smoothly directed, yet jittery and real story, a movie that just about never makes a mistake (I feel like the monologue Renner has in front of his son is a bit pat in the writing). The performances are vibrant and well-thought-through, the technical aspects are perfect, and the sequences are every bit as intense as the critical hyperbole states. If you have not seen this movie, go to Netflix, and get it. Buy it, sight unseen. But see it.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Death of a Broadcast Network

Catchy title, right? Yes, I've decided to grab your attention before I bore you with a rant. Wait, don't go! Now, I know what you're thinking: what do I have to add to the cacophony of voices letting you know about their opinions on the latest debacle NBC has gotten itself into, to the point that it's likely going to destroy its late-night TV shows? Well, sure, my opinion may not be more unique, and there are no insiders, but I can string together a complete sentence, so I'm a leg or two up on most of the bloggers out there.

As I write this, Conan O'Brien is taping what could be his last night as the host of "The Tonight Show". It could be his last night, it could be nowhere near his last night. However, after this latest twist, wherein Conan releases a plainly-written yet extremely sharp and pointed statement telling NBC to shove it, who knows? Zachary Levi. Tom Brokaw. Roseanne Cash. Keep those names in mind, in case this is his last show, and you get a unique trivia question in 20 years. Those are the three guests on tonight's show.

So, what can I tell you? NBC is peopled by morons in its executive branch. Conan O'Brien continues to be the funniest late-night host on the broadcast networks. Jay Leno continues to be the most boring, safe comedian on television (yes, even moreso than George Lopez). Jimmy Fallon is losing out on the same opportunity O'Brien had years ago to build his show from its start. Carson Daly...well, I do feel bad for him, as he's being completely ignored. Can't say his show's great, but he deserves his time on NBC more than Jay Leno does.

As I've said elsewhere, one day, a book will be written about how NBC killed itself through various moves, and I would imagine a whole chunk of the tome will be dedicated to this debacle. From the very beginning of the decision, NBC executives, specifically Jeff Zucker, made mistake after mistake. OK, you're going to kick Leno off in 2009 for O'Brien. Fine. You make the announcement in 2004, so we're all aware of it. But Leno gets antsy, and you decide to give him what he wants: more money. More time to do his brand of humor, which is perfect for people who don't realize that they don't have a sense of humor.

But why? Why choose Leno over O'Brien? Conan's still a hilarious comedian and host, whereas Leno hasn't been fresh since Hugh Grant. The ratings that Leno had at 10 P.M. were crap (and you know what? I couldn't care less if NBC was fine with his shitty ratings), and the fact that NBC was cool with them just shows how lazy they are. That's why NBC is morphing into a low-rent cable network. They are fine with failure. Zucker and his executive friends have been fine with keeping the status quo for years, even though the status quo has been going down, down, down. People like "Friends"? Supersize it. Makes sense on one hand, but on the other, it means that NBC doesn't have to create new programs. Get football. Solves part of the Sunday schedule, but not all of it. Remake British shows so you don't have to work on creativity. Once, you'll get lucky. But even the ratings of "The Office" aren't amazing. It's the network's highest-rated scripted series, and gets under 10 million viewers on a good day.

Conan did the right thing by speaking out today, and if he's got a good head on his shoulders, he'll be gone by Martin Luther King Day, and NBC will be stuck with the same old thing in late-night, a five-hour gap in their primetime schedule, and competition from networks like Telemundo and Univision. Jeff Zucker may have just had his contract re-upped, but one day, he is going to fall as rapidly as his network. If ever a dictionary had the phrase "epic fail" in its pages, the description would read NBC. No further explanation.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard

Oh, Will Ferrell. Will Ferrell can be so damn funny, but he has long ago become a very overexposed comedian. I still think he's hilarious, and has given us one of the funniest films of the past decade, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. But when it comes to something that was obviously meant to be a star vehicle for him, such as The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard, Ferrell knew well enough to only show up in a cameo. It's a pity, then, that the rest of this movie, with such a ridiculously long title that it probably took 90 minutes (the film's running time) to be devised, is as foolish as most Will Ferrell comedies.

The plot of The Goods revolves around Don Ready, a shyster car salesman who takes a team of salespeople across the country to push up sales at floundering dealerships. Don is played by Jeremy Piven, who can be funny. He has been funny in Entourage and in his explanation for backing out of Speed-the-Plow. Ready is not a bad character for him to play, but like recent comedies Year One and Land of the Lost, the movie he's in just dies on arrival. In short, and I hate to make the pun, and be the millionth person do so, but...this movie does not have the goods.

What's disappointing is the talent involved. Jeremy Piven, Ving Rhames, David Koechner, Kathryn Hahn, James Brolin, Ed Helms, Alan Thicke, Craig Robinson, Ferrell...All of these people are funny. All of them have the capacity to be good in films. And all of them are wrongly used or barely onscreen. What of the weird subplot where Hahn tries to sleep with Rob Riggle, playing a character who looks 30 but is really 10? What of Rhames' subplot, where he tries to find true love with a hot young stripper? What of Brolin wanting to sleep with Koechner? What of Alan Thicke, people? What of Alan Thicke?

Like the other two failed summer comedies I mentioned, I really wanted to like The Goods. I laughed once. I wanted so badly to give this movie a break. But, and I apologize for the shortness of this review, it's hard to explain why jokes aren't funny. If you don't laugh, you don't laugh. The Goods is a movie that tries so hard, and in doing so, fails to get any laughter. Bad comedies are always painful to watch, but bad comedies populated by some of the most talented funny people in Hollywood is excruciating.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Julie & Julia

Let's get this much out of the way right now. I am not, in any way, the target audience for Julie & Julia, the mash-up of two real-life stories involving the famous late chef Julia Child. I am not a woman, I don't much like Nora Ephron movies, I find Meryl Streep overrated, and Child's style of performing as a chef grated. So, yeah, the fact that I don't like this movie should not surprise you. "Why, then, Josh", you ask as you read this review, ready to attack if need be (for I somehow view you, dear reader, as hostile, and we can only assume I am foolish for thinking so), "Why, then, would you watch this movie if you knew you would not like it?"

Fair question, not-hostile reader. Most times, I avoid movies I'm predisposed to dislike. Take The Blind Side, a sleeper box-office success if there ever was one. I know I am not going to like this movie. I have nothing against true-story movies, nor sports movies, nor inspirational filmmaking. I have everything against Sandra Bullock. As with Meryl Streep, I do not like her, though for very different reasons. Whereas most people find Bullock's work in Miss Congeniality and Two Weeks Notice charming, I find it obnoxious. Granted, The Blind Side is not only a true story, but it's not a romantic comedy. Still, I get the feeling that Bullock's portrayal of a straight-talkin' Southern belle will drive me up a fucking wall. So, it's better that I don't see it; I'm biased enough as it is.

But, to answer the question at hand, I saw Julie & Julia because I am a good husband. My wife was recently sick, with pneumonia, and though I had no interest, I saw the movie at the store, knew she'd want to watch it, and picked it up. At the very least, she would have a good time. So, imagine my surprise that neither of us had a good time. Oh, there have been more terrible movies, and 2009 was not short of them. Two other movies I saw because I am a good husband? Transformers 2 and New Moon. I tell you, reader, I am a very good husband.

Ah, but Julie & Julia is not a good movie. The plots (first problem, too) are simple enough: one is about Julie Powell, a woman in her late twenties working in a post-9/11 job at Ground Zero. She hates her job, envies those of her vacuous friends, but finds an outlet when she decides to blog about cooking every recipe in the book Mastering the Art of French Cooking, co-written by Julia Child. The other plot is about how Julia Child, back in the 1950s, moved to Paris with her husband and was able to become such a well-respected chef that she co-wrote the very book Powell is working from.

So where lies the problem? Let's start with the easy issue: why does there need to be a second plot? All of the critics who slammed the section starring Amy Adams, a usually lovely and charming actress, as Powell were right. It's not just that when Adams is onscreen, we want Streep to come back. It's that Adams' presence is pointless, her character is self-absorbed, and our time is wasted. Never has this vivacious woman seemed less attractive, less charming, and less cheery. Powell is always thinking of number one, which is fine if we're not meant to find her a delightful little creature, learning how to "blog" on the "Internet". If, by the way, you're looking for any insight into how a blog became so successful back in 2002, aside from Powell writing for Salon.com, don't get excited.

So, with Adams (who has never been made to look less superficially attractive, by the way; call me shallow, but it's who I am) out of the picture, what of the storyline with Streep? Well, it's got Stanley Tucci. Streep is...OK, but she's never doing anything more than an impersonation of Julia Child. I never felt like she inhabited the character, in the same way that Philip Seymour Hoffman, for example, did in Capote. Granted, Hoffman had a lot more to work with, but Streep is just floundering. Her chemistry with Tucci, who plays her husband, is undeniable, and their scenes are the best of the movie. That doesn't make the movie any better when they're not both onscreen.

I leave you with this. There is a scene, about halfway through Julie & Julia in which Powell and her husband sit on the couch, watching the famous Saturday Night Live sketch wherein Dan Aykroyd portrays Child and cuts off his finger, spraying blood everywhere. It's a classic. There's no explanation as to how these two found the clip on TV. There's no reason for them to watch it. And they do watch it. All of it. Why? I have no idea. Some people are praising Streep, who will surely get an Oscar nod, because she is Meryl Streep playing a real person and doing a forceful impersonation; I don't agree, and, in general, my low expectations were actually surpassed, in the opposite way. Sigh.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Inglourious Basterds

With an enormous amount of caution, I walked into Inglourious Basterds back in August. Though I'm a huge fan of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, no amount of force would get me to admit that the two Kill Bill films and Death Proof were anything more than over-the-top, indulgent japes that only proved exactly how much of a huge and smug film geek Quentin Tarantino is (and despite all of that past film geekery, he apparently watches no movies anymore, based on some of the choices in his best of the past decade; Anything Else? Seriously?)

Though Tarantino focusing his eye on a World War II revenge fantasy ostensibly about a platoon of Jewish-American soldiers lead by a cheerfully sadistic Southern military man seemed intriguing, I worried that all he would do is have his characters spout faux-cool dialogue and then splatter gore all over for somewhere near four hours. Perhaps because Inglourious Basterds isn't nearly as much about the titular characters, even though it's plenty long, plenty talky, and plenty gory. The film made a lot of money, and is likely going to get a fair amount of Academy Award nominations in a few weeks, but it could have easily been a victim of bad marketing.

That faulty marketing is one of my only problems with this incredibly tense, fierce, and enjoyable romp through Nazi-occupied France. The majority of the Basterds only show up for one sequence, and they barely register. There are eight soldiers, plus the leader, plus a surprise wild card. And only about five of them have lines, let alone major character parts. No, this movie is more of an ensemble, introducing us to a truly vile yet completely shrewd Nazi, a vengeful young Jewish woman who has one of the best poker faces, a sly British soldier, and a shrill Adolf Hitler (is there another kind?). Oh, and then there are the Basterds. They're not unimportant, but from the trailers, you'd assume Brad Pitt and his Jewish fighting buddies are in every scene of this 150-minute war drama. Not the case.

Frankly, whatever problems I have with the movie lie with the Basterds. Why are there so many of them, when only a few have lines? Why is a recognizable young comedian like Samm Levine or Paul Rust, or even B.J. Novak (probably most recognizable thanks to his role on The Office and certainly a performer with a bit more to do) in the movie at all? Who can say, especially when the only well-known deleted scene involved a flashback to the life of Donny Donowitz, also known as the Bear Jew, due to his proclivity with a baseball bat when it comes to Nazis. However, whatever flaws I have with the movie basically boil down to: if you're going to feature all of these characters, have more movie. Damn good problem to have.

After watching Inglourious Basterds in theatres, I had a bit of an issue with the finale, which proves exactly how much of an alternate history Tarantino was interested in creating (for the still-uninitiated, I'll say that the war doesn't end in 1945). In only this scene does the famed auteur seem interested in portraying a live-action cartoon as opposed to something that could have really happen. Sure, there wasn't a guy named Donowitz, he didn't have a baseball bat to bash in Nazis, there wasn't a guy named Hans Landa, but the majority of the movie actually feels like it's real. The ending, not just for the obvious reasons, feels fake.

Or, rather, it felt fake. I've watched the film two more times since getting it on Blu-ray, and damn, is this fun. I can't say it's as fun as the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, but watching the major set pieces unfold, as calmly and patiently as possible, is as exciting as anything else I've seen in film this year. I imagine some of the people who saw the movie were a bit bored during, say, the opening scene set in a French dairy farm where Col. Hans Landa of the SS interrogates the farmer without actually interrogating or sounding anything less than friendly. Perhaps they were turned off during the 30-minute scene set in a French tavern, as members of the Basterds attempt to get some intel on a Nazi film premiere in Paris, to bloody effect. All I can say is that those scenes, and countless others, unraveled with so much building tension that it remains one of the more uniquely unnerving films I've seen in a while.

With one notable exception, the cast here is excellent. Brad Pitt is fun and proves that when he's given a character with personality, he's actually enjoyable to watch. Diane Kruger, as a flashy German movie star with a traitorous streak, is also clever, but doesn't make that much of a mark. Melanie Laurent, as Shoshana, the young Jew who ends up owning the cinema where the Nazis premiere their latest piece of propaganda, however, is amazing. Her face-off scene with Landa is breathlessly scary, and her final sigh of relief is a stand-in for the audience's gasps. The exception is, of course, Eli Roth, a director who's...well, he doesn't make movies I'd want to watch, and his acting style is just as over-the-top as I figured it'd be. Granted, his character isn't exactly low-key, but he doesn't help things out. I won't say too much about Christoph Waltz, as Landa, because what else can I say but echo his brilliance? I want an Oscar in his hand, now.

Is Inglourious Basterds, as Tarantino self-referentially states in the film's last line, a masterpiece? It's certainly his best film since 1994's Pulp Fiction, and one of the best films of the year. The word "masterpiece" is too often thrown around movies, but I can say that, after three viewings, and two of them at home, this movie has become one of my favorite films of the year, something that will get more rewatchable as time goes by. The 2000s hadn't been a good decade, in my opinion, for Quentin Tarantino, but he salvaged himself at the very end of 2009. Thank God.

Monday, January 4, 2010

The Princess and the Frog

I had so much trepidation going into The Princess and the Frog, Walt Disney Pictures' newest attempt to get back into the 2-d, hand-drawn, traditional animation game. The last film from Walt Disney Animation Studios, as opposed to Pixar, that wasn't in 3-d animation was about cows voiced by, among others, Roseanne and Dame Judi Dench. Then, the 3-d movies the studio came up with weren't too hot; what, you're not fans of Chicken Little or Meet The Robinsons? Crazy person. Anyway, though a return to 2-d animation is always welcome to this Disney aficionado, could these folks top Pixar in terms of strong characters, stories, and emotions?

Now, being a Disney aficionado, I suppose I am biased. However, not being a big fan of the Disney princesses (I don't dislike any of them, but I suppose my natural tendencies always made me more a fan of Aladdin or Simba), that might balance things out a bit. But I'm not at all ashamed to tell you that I loved this movie. Loved it, top to bottom. Is The Princess and the Frog a perfect movie? No, but it has that potent and uniquely Disney mix of memorable music, charming characters, gorgeous animation, and engaging storylines that make a winner. When I saw critics rave that this was the best Disney animated film since The Lion King, I blanched, simply because there really haven't been a lot of great Disney movies since 1994.

That said, The Princess and the Frog is easily equal to films such as Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, or The Lion King. The story, which is a play on The Frog Prince, is set in New Orleans, circa the 1920s. The princess in question is not a princess, but a young waitress named Tiana. Tiana longs to own a restaurant on the Mississippi, to fulfill not only her dreams but the dreams of her late father. She and her mother, however, are both poor, so she's been saving for years and just barely able to put down money to buy the building in question. Tiana ends up experiencing a life-changing event when, one night at a costume ball, she kisses a frog who claims to be Prince Naveen, a good-looking but cheerfully lazy young man who's been cut off from his family for being a huge moocher. Prince Naveen turned into a frog when he ran afoul of Dr. Facilier, a menacing witch doctor who plans on using the loutish prince to control all of New Orleans, so he can finally pay off his debt to his "friends" on the other side. Naveen and Tiana kiss, as he mistakes her for a princess thanks to her costume; the kiss has, of course, the wrong effect, as she turns into a frog, and the two get to learn about the bayou while learning to appreciate and love each other.

Is The Princess and the Frog a surprising, twisty film? Of course not. It's a Disney movie. Does this movie give you exactly what you want from a classic Disney animated feature? Oh yes. The music, while not being on exactly the same level as the miniature marvels created by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman, is catchy and sometimes goosebump-inducing. Believe me when I tell you that anything Randy Newman does would rarely get me to even think of inducing goosebumps. The animation is as impressive as anything Disney has ever done. The way the animators have brought New Orleans to its most vibrant life is some of their most impressive work. The story may fit easily within Disney cliches and tropes, but one late death is, honestly, a little shocking. Kudos to John Musker and Ron Clements, the film's directors, for not finding some cheeseball way to revive this character.

And speaking of characters, what a cavalcade. Tiana, as voiced by Anika Noni Rose, is a feisty and beautiful character, though she learns during the movie that hard work is only successful and worthy when tempered with a bit of levity. Naveen, voiced by Bruno Campos, is perhaps the most charming Disney prince, despite being so very flawed. Naveen is given a lot of the laugh lines here, which makes him instantly interesting. As much as their movies may be great, how many of us remember Prince Eric or Aladdin or any of the classic princes? As Louis, the trumpet-playing alligator, Michael Leon-Woolley is unabashedly over-the-top and fun-loving, a lighter version of someone like Baloo. The most well-known actors are mostly supporting; Keith David has the biggest role, as Dr. Facilier, and is as menacing as befits a Disney villain. Other big names are all on the sidelines, as it should be: Oprah Winfrey, Terrence Howard, and John Goodman are all entertaining, not overshadowing the other characters with their performances.

For a few years, there seemed to be doubt about whether or not 2-d animation would ever be able to make a comeback when it faced down Pixar or DreamWorks Animation. And yet, as is proven by The Princess and the Frog, a film spearheaded, ironically enough, by Pixar honcho John Lasseter, it's not the animation style that matters. There are talented animators of all kinds, whether they work by hand or by computer. What matters is story, what matters is character, and this truly enjoyable and exciting movie has those in spades. For the first time in a long while, I eagerly await the next offering from Walt Disney Animation Studios.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes knows martial arts. He knows how to bare-knuckle fight. Before you freak out completely, perhaps I can direct you to the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which feature Sherlock Holmes being capable of those things. For some reason, a lot of people calling themselves purists are saying that the latest incarnation of the famed British detective, as directed by Guy Ritchie, is a slam against all that Doyle created. Of course, those people are factually wrong, so good going on being purists, guys.

Now, granted, I really enjoyed this new version, titled, shockingly enough, Sherlock Holmes. That doesn't ignore, though, the fact that I would have written that last paragraph, even if I hated the movie. That Sherlock Holmes knew how to fight is not new. That filmmakers would want to make a movie where the detective actually fought someone makes perfect sense. If you read any of the Holmes stories, it's pretty clear that any fully faithful adaptation would be...well, boring. A majority of the shorter stories involve Holmes and his sidekick/best friend Dr. John Watson reminiscing about a past case, fully in dialogue. Would you like to see Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law talk about a past case for 2 hours?

That said, I'm also not sure why some of the negative criticism has been levied against Ritchie, whose work in films such as Snatch and Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels has had him pegged as a too-fast, too-kinetic helmer. His unique and flashy style is certainly on display here, but only in small and appropriate doses. With the exceptions of scenes where Holmes reveals, through voice-over, how he's figured something out or how he's about to knock a guy out, there's really nothing too reminiscent of those rock-em-sock-em actioners here.

Though the plot revolves around a mysterious Lord Blackwood who's risen from the grave to take over the known world, Sherlock Holmes is really about the byplay between Holmes and Watson, seen here as something akin to college buddies who haven't fully grown up yet. Holmes' dazzling and dizzying intellect is still in full force, and Watson is still a straight man, but the back-and-forth between Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law, as Holmes and Watson, respectively, is worth the price of admission. These two seem very much like they've been friends, closer to an old married couple, for years. The fun that's to be had here, and there's a lot, is due to the chemistry and charisma these two parrying partners bring to the film.

Mark Strong, the menacing British actor, presents a fearful villain in Blackwood, someone smart enough to pose considerable problems to Holmes. Rachel McAdams stars as Irene Adler, the American con artist who's eluded Holmes' grasp in past stories. Though she's mostly presented as a damsel in distress, even when she's on the other side of the fight, McAdams does her best with the material. That's not to say that she's got a lot of material, because she is the one actor of the main quartet with the least to do, but McAdams is not an actress short on sly charm. Other notable performers include Eddie Marsan, as the two-minutes-late Inspector Lestrade, and Kelly Reilly, as Mary Marstan, the young woman who's taking Watson away to a married life. If there's a main plot between Holmes and Watson, it's how the former will deal with the latter leaving him.

Sherlock Holmes is not going to be a full-on crowd-pleaser for some people, those who are too easy to ignore a movie with a Holmes-as-action-hero lead. However, if you go into the movie expecting an enjoyable, entertaining, almost overstuffed, and more-than-clever piece of filmmaking, you will walk away very satisfied. Though there's also been criticism that the movie is nothing more than a blatant push for a franchise, consider me one paying customer for Sherlock Holmes 2. The corporate plans have sucked me in once again.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Up in the Air

Up in the Air is a film about many things, but chiefly about insincerity and its all-encompassing power. Most reviews have highlighted how this film is about tapping into the current economic situations in this country, or about how the story is really telling us about how George Clooney needs to settle down unless he wants to turn into a loser, or about how relationships are the most important thing in the world. And Up in the Air, which stands as director Jason Reitman's best film yet, is about each and every one of those things, and in very unsubtle terms. But it is most importantly about how the world of business is filled with insincerity and false realism, and how the people who populate that world are meant to sit back and take it as it comes without batting an eyelash.

Based on the novel by Walter Kirn, but only in its main character and concept, Up in the Air introduces us to one of the many business-level travelers who spends his time in an airplane, a hotel, or the bars thereabout. This traveler is Ryan Bingham, a man whose job requires him to always fly around the country; in the past year, he narrates, he spent only 43 days at the apartment he considers home, only in that it's where he gets his mail. Ryan is also a unique man in that he enjoys air travel. Although most people are seeing Up in the Air just after the botched terrorist attack on an airliner headed for Detroit, the familiarity with hating airline travel and all it represents is fresh in our minds, so Ryan's enjoyment and awareness of how to diminish his waiting time just compounds how focused he is in his life.

But, asks this movie, what kind of life does Ryan live? Is his life worth living as it is? Shouldn't he want something else aside from gold cards, corporate airline clubs, flings with pretty women that never go anywhere? Ryan finds these questions in the form of Natalie Keener. What Ryan does seems difficult and almost pointless: he fires people. Ryan works for a company that fires people from other companies, when those companies are too weak-willed to do so. Ryan is sent around the country to fire people, but Natalie, a 23-year old Cornell graduate represents the end of his life up in the air. Natalie has created a program wherein people would be fired over teleconference, not in person. Though this program would save Career Transitions Corporation a lot of money, it would ground Ryan permanently. Not only that, but Ryan firmly believes in the personal touch, even when doing something so terrible, so life-altering, so definitive.

Ryan manages to sway his boss, Craig, to at least get a reprieve. Ryan is tasked with taking Natalie with him on the road for a trip to a few cities, to at least show her how to do what he does. Natalie, though a believer in the power of binding relationships, believes that the best way to fire people is to be impersonal, something that is sure to blow up in her face. While Ryan deals with Natalie, he meets a businesswoman who changes his perspective on what it means to be alone. Alex describes herself as Ryan with a vagina, at least in that they're so often flying, are in love with elite status, and are both filled with enough lust to spend darkened nights in nice hotel rooms. But, as their conversations take off and as Ryan learns more about himself and what he may want out of his life, Ryan wonders if Alex might be the woman to change him.

To say that George Clooney is as frequently great an actor as he is a glitzy movie star would be, I think, a bit of a falsehood. I like Clooney in his films, even those that are a bit overrated (Michael Clayton is the top example), but I've rarely thought of him as an entertaining or exciting actor. Up in the Air is one film that proves his chops as an actor are well-earned. Not only is this Reitman's best work, but it's Clooney's best work also. Though the third act of the movie requires Clooney to mostly separate from the main female characters, the range of emotions he has to run through in the final 40 minutes, and the relative ease and believability with which he pulls it off, is stunning. His work here, especially in the final 15 minutes, is his best yet.

With very few exceptions, the entirety of Up in the Air is next to perfect. Vera Farmiga and Anna Kendrick, as Alex and Natalie, respectively, are both phenomenal, breathing life into two fully realized characters. Though a late twist may throw some people off about one of these women, it's worth noting that, at no point in the film are we privy to any other point of view than Ryan's. We only assume things are the way they are because Ryan assumes them to be so. That doesn't make them fact. Anyhow, Farmiga and Kendrick, especially, are great here and deserving of the praise. In fact, my only quibble is with the score, composed by Rolfe Kent. Though it's mostly appropriate and not at all intrusive, there's an early scene introducing Ryan's theory of life, represented by a backpack, that is underscored by a wrongheaded, jokey tune; the scene becomes distracting instead of compelling.

That said, Reitman has become more assured here than in Thank You For Smoking or Juno, two films that dealt heavily with stylishness than believable characters; with regards to the latter film, I loved it when it came out, but upon repeat viewings, the dialogue and characters become so dated that it's off-putting. His fluid control of the visuals, the crisp editing and cinematography, and tight script are all evidence of a filmmaker coming into his prime. Up in the Air has been heavily buzzed about for Oscars, and it's not hard to see why. The topic is something most people can relate to (and Reitman's usage of real people who lost their jobs to play the people losing their jobs is the smartest choice of all), the film is filled with Oscar-bait actors, and the finale manages to be ambiguous enough to not make people leave in downbeat fashion. But its points about how sincerity is key in life, about how life is key with company, and about how a man cannot be by himself to be satisfied are most important, more than superficial gold.

Friday, January 1, 2010

A New Year, and a New Story

God, have I been way too lax in writing on this blog. Almost six months, and I've not written a single thing. I could blame in on moving to our new house, but then again, the last post was written three weeks after moving in. Unpacking? No. Trouble at work? Thankfully, no (my job, the one I've had since July 2008, is filled with tiny frustrations, but compared to my wife, I work at a circus-style funhouse). Too much time socializing? So sweet of you to think so, person who doesn't know me well or at all. No, that's not the reason. Why, it's good, old-fashioned laziness rearing its head apathetically with a half-hearted shrug.

Once again, as with last year, I'm going to try and make myself write something each day. And, hopefully, that something isn't going to just be another of my many links to articles I've written at Box Office Prophets (yep, still writing there, and enjoying it, as always). Today, I'm going to ring in the new year with a story of holiday parties past. Within the next few days, I'll add in some reviews of movies I'm seeing this weekend, or movies I've seen recently. I'll also do the list of my top movies of the past year, and so on and so on. I might even start a new marathon of movies I'll be going back into my mental archives to watch. Fingers crossed.

But first, as promised, a story of holiday parties for you now. I would almost hesitate to name names, but I'm not sure it'll be a major issue. At the very least, let me clarify that I won't be naming the company I work for. This is not because the story I'm about to tell is going to make this company look bad in any way. As I've said here and elsewhere, I like my job, I like the company I work for, and if I keep my head down, they may very well let me free of the chains I am shackled with day in and day out. I kid, of course.

So, the story. I work at a company based in Arizona that has had a corporate holiday party every year for quite a while. For the holiday season of 2008, my first at the company, I got to go to the corporate holiday party (not because I'm extra-awesome or anything--I am, but it's not important here--but because of my department's importance). The theme was "Hooray for Hollywood". Because when you think of the holidays, you think of Hollywood. Anyway, the party was being held at one of the more tony hotels in the metropolitan area, and extreme dress-up was the style. Once the wife and I arrived and parked (not valet, unlike most of the other drivers), we were greeted by a luxurious red carpet. The ballroom in which the dinner was being served was flanked by a ridiculously lengthy hallway and an opposite ballroom where there was a casino (again, holidays = gambling).

The dinner we were served was probably the best I'd had all year; filet mignon, creme brulee, and so on. The majority of the dinner part of the evening was very low-key, though. It was once dinner was over that the lights dimmed and we were directed to pay attention to the stage in the ballroom, where large TV screens on either side were showing a montage. The montage was full of clips from classic Hollywood movies. Movies like Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Third Man, Gone With The Wind, Nine to Five, and Beaches. It was right around Nine to Five that my wife and I looked at each other with a look that equaled a no-missed-beat query of "What the fuck?"

Before we got to go any further with that line of questioning, out came the master of ceremonies, also known as the most boring comedian I'd seen to that point. I can't remember any of his jokes, but I know that he wasn't funny and was mostly a placeholder to introduce the real entertainment. First up, he said, was someone who didn't usually come to Phoenix, as she was most often hanging around her famed amusement park. "You know her from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and Nine To Five...ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Miss Dolly Parton!"

Now here's the thing. The company that I work for is big enough and national enough that...well, honestly, if they had enough money to get Dolly Parton, and she did corporate events, I would believe it. It's also worth noting that this party began with the mayor of Phoenix wishing the company well, as well as the at-the-time lieutenant governor, who was only there because the current governor was too busy becoming the Secretary of Homeland Security. So it seems outlandish, but for about one second, I thought, "Holy shit, they got Dolly Parton?" Later on, I'd wonder what the hell Dolly had to do with the holidays, but come on, Dolly Parton?

As the woman wearing a blonde wig and likely a padded bra walked onstage uncomfortably in high heels, I fell back to earth. She sang a few songs unspectacularly, was followed by a hack magician, four guys impersonating the Temptations, and the final capper was Bette Midler, as played by Harvey Fierstein or a person of indeterminate gender, I'm not sure. The point to take from this holiday party was that the company had unique ways of providing us entertainment. The dinner was awesome, the accompaniment was...cheesy, at best.

And so we come to this year's party. The theme was "A Night in Emerald City". Because when you think of the holidays, you think of The Wizard of Oz. Of course, my first thought was that if someone didn't sing "Over the Rainbow" before the party was over, I'd want my proverbial money back. Once again, the party was going to be held at a crazy fancy hotel; not the same one, but one that was considered fancier. Once we got to the hotel, we found the ballroom set off by itself, unlike the year before. There wasn't as much of what amounted to a preshow, but the place was still quite swanky.

As I stood with the wife and some of my co-workers, waiting for the ballroom doors to open, I wondered if it was right for me to compare the two hotels, especially since they weren't related in any way. We sat down, ate another insanely awesome dinner (filet mignon, lobster bisque, and the best chocolate torte I've ever had), and waited for the evening's entertainment. Finally, an announcer over the PA system said, "Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the front of the stage for our evening's entertainment." Out came two older women, employees who were the chief party organizers. They wished everyone a happy holiday season, thanked everyone for their hard work and for coming, and then said that we were all in for quite a treat, as we'd be seeing two extremely funny guys, men who define what it means to be comedians. Then, they introduced the CEOs of the company, who once again thanked everyone, wished us happy holidays, and promoted the main act of the evening as one of the funniest, warmest, and most caring individuals he'd had the privilege of meeting.

I realize, at this point, that this story is very long, and that I'm really building up to who the main act is. Let's get this straight: I'm not exaggerating on the description provided by the CEO, nor am I unaware that I'm setting you up for a major fucking disappointment. I'm aware. So, anyway, after this, the CEO at the mike introduces the opening act, who has the rare distinction of having been on both Saturday Night Live and MAD TV. Now, I was racing through my mind, trying to think of what person that could be. Before I could think of any solid guesses, out came Jeff Richards. Yes, I know what you're thinking to yourselves. "Who?"

Well, as it turns out, Jeff Richards was on both shows; he was on the former show for two and a half seasons, from 2001-2004, and on the latter show for 3 episodes in 2000. Hey, if it works, it works. Richards came out to some Caddyshack-style music, dancing and sweating like he was John Belushi right before he passed out for the last time. My wife thought he was doing a Chris Farley impression, but....well, Farley did Belushi's shtick while being sweeter. Anyway, Richards, after dancing, opened with a line that set the tone for his entire set, and set the tone for how it would be received: "So, I can say 'fuck', right?"

Yes, Jeff, you can curse. Now, granted, the reaction from part of the crowd was "Oooh", as if we were on the playground in elementary school. Apparently, there are still plenty of taboos for the folks at my company. Richards spent the next 15 minutes swearing up and down, and being generally rude for the sake of being rude. Now, I don't find that funny. I have no problem with profanity or with racy content. Last night, for example, I went to see Joel McHale at the Dodge Theatre; his opener was his Community co-star Donald Glover, who brought up the "n"-word, child molestation, and more in his 15 minutes. And it was great. What I dislike is a comedian who thinks that swearing is, in itself, funny.

It's not. Richards was mostly ignored by the crowd, as some up front laughed a bit, out of sheer politeness. He regaled us with a few impressions, including Dr. Phil and the drunk sorority girl he often did on SNL. Finally, he was ready to finish: "OK, folks, you've been a great crowd, thank you very much. Now, are you ready for the main event of the evening? Are you ready to laugh? I said, ARE YOU READY TO LAUGH? Ladies and gentlemen, give it up...for Mr. Rob Schneider!"

I must tell you here that I have, for the purpose of dramatic storytelling, left out a very important tidbit. As I was waiting with my wife and some co-workers to go into the ballroom, one of said employees came up to me and said, "Dude, I just saw Rob Schneider behind me!" I was skeptical, for obvious reasons, but the guy was serious. So everyone at our table wondered why in hell Deuce Bigelow would be here. He couldn't...no, he couldn't be the entertainment, right? Because when you think of the holidays and The Wizard of Oz, you think of Rob Schneider. Now, granted, I proposed that Schneider could very well come out dressed as a flying monkey or a munchkin. Alas, no luck. He came out, and though we were ironically thrilled at the prospect of Rob Schneider doing stand-up, only five minutes into his set did we realize the dark side of said prospect.

Schneider was...well, imagine how funny he'd be. That's how funny he was. Obviously, some people laughed, but I'm pretty sure they were all drunk. He could have read the alphabet and it would have killed with these people. The part that I disliked most, the part that made me angry was when he complained, for a good four or five minutes, about being recognized in public. Right, what a terrible fucking life it must be for a guy whose career amounts to hanging around Adam Sandler to be recognized by us average peons. Sorry, Rob. It got worse when, a few minutes later, he pulled out a sheet of paper and pretended it was a monologue for a Martin Scorsese movie he was soon auditioning for. After clearing his throat, he read it: "YOU CAN DO IT!!" So, it sucks being recognized, but he's real glad to invoke the quote that he is now most readily recognized for. Happy holidays, right?

So, that's my story. Funny? I didn't think so. Warm? Caring? I can't say, of course, not knowing the man. But....weird night. Hope you enjoyed the story, and that you'll stick around for the rest of the year, and that I'll stick around as well. This resolution I will keep. Happy New Year.